


They Learned This in Eden

by MrsNoggin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fic, Smut, ambiguous genitalia, of the deep and feeling sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 13:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19929181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNoggin/pseuds/MrsNoggin
Summary: 666 Fics Fics Fics Prompt : Eden.They learned this in Eden, though they haven’t done it since.





	They Learned This in Eden

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, don't hold it against me.

They learned this in Eden, though they haven’t done it since. 

That place, that garden, was a paradise of Earthly Pleasures, and they taught them to each other. How to choose the ripest nectarine, that would spill its juices down your arm as you ate. How the soft, green grass tickled against the naked skin of your back. How the mossy stones in the river would slip pleasantly against your feet and if you squinted your eyes and tipped your head you could make the stars dance. They learned how the things that the humans did felt good for them too, that taking the forms they had been given and rolling them against and into each other brought about delicious juices of a whole different kind. That even better than blades of grass were smears of lips and swipes of tongue. 

They learned in Eden, too, that they were supposed to be enemies, and they’ve spent lifetimes trying to work out how to be. It feels like an eternity since they last touched - an unspoken agreement to never create an instant of contact between them. They’re not great at that, but they’ve _mostly_ managed for this long. 

Now though, after everything, now the breaking of that agreement is also unspoken. It’s not silent, however. It begins with a squawking creak of leather, a shush of woolen trousers sliding over denim jeans, a curious hum from a demonic throat and a soft exhale onto his wine-stained lips. The record player is crooning in the background, the rain is tapping at the window and two pairs of lungs are suddenly heaving. 

Aziraphale swings a leg over to straddle Crowley’s lap, weight gingerly held over his thighs and fingers carefully threading into his hair. Crowley doesn’t hesitate; he knows this dance, and he’s missed it for almost all of his long life. So he grabs hold at his first opportunity and does not intend on letting go again. He pulls Aziraphale down onto him, forcing air from his chest in surprise, but the mouth on his is smiling. 

They learned this in Eden, though kissing is more like heaven: setting his heart pounding and his skin tingling. Aziraphale sucks lightly at his lips, pulling the bottom one into his mouth to lick at it while it swells in the grip of his teeth. Fingertips clutch in Crowley’s hair, nails digging in as Aziraphale loses himself in him, in them.

Clothes are unnecessary, as they were then, but Crowley enjoys removing them slowly, sliding them from limbs and using them to pull Aziraphale down onto the sofa. They are peeled away teasingly, and he follows with his mouth, baring skin and covering it with his own. Aziraphale wrestles him over and repeats the whole process, and then they are naked and bared. 

They learned this in Eden, the rolling motions of hips, the slippery slide of sweating bodies and the eager grasping of hands. It feels more desperate now, not an exploration, but no less exciting. Eye contact is like fire to Crowley, sizzling through his veins, settling in the pit of his belly like the burn of whisky. 

There is something extraordinarily decadent about the way they rub together when Aziraphale rocks his pelvis. There is something beautifully wanton about the vibrations of Crowley’s throat against Aziraphale’s open mouth as he moans words he has not spoken in thousands of years. Yes please, fuck, Angel yes, give me more, take me, love me... 

Aziraphale takes his words and gives back more, shows his adoration in syllables and sibilants, in the grip of his fingers and the grit of his teeth, in the long, slow slide inside. Crowley holds tight, one hand on a powerful back, the other around the curve of a straining neck, pulling him down to breathe his air, to look into deep pools of blue seawater, sharp and flooding. 

They learned this in Eden.

They fuck slowly and reverently. Lovingly. Worshipfully.

They learned this in Eden. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos make my world go round. Please and thank you. 
> 
> I'm on Twitter as [ @katnoggin](https://twitter.com/KatNoggin) \- please come and find me for further discourse.


End file.
